Ick.

I miss American toothpaste.

Finding Memories

Our minds are so weird. When I arrived here in Neuchatel I had no memory of where we had lived, what our house looked like, etc. But I am finding as I explore the town that my brain did, in fact, hold some of Neuchatel in it, and all it needs is a trigger to surface into my conscious thought.

Today my classes ended at 11:50, because they were nice enough to cut me out of German. So, after a lovely picnic with Hans Peter and Elisabeth, I had the afternoon to myself to explore and get to know the town. I decided to walk downtown and see the castle. As I walked through the narrow cobblestone streets bustling with busy activity, I noticed a watch shop, near this stunning fountain. I found myself on a snowy December evening, waiting as my incredibly thoughtful and precise father mused over his options of watches to purchase, while my childish patience waned. I, of course, have heard the story of our family promenading around the town that night singing Christmas carols and carrying on, but that specific scene has never been described to me, not from my point of view.

Sometimes the memories I've been finding are simply emotions, the color of my thoughts all those years ago. Also on the way to the Chateau, there is a specific chocolate shop. At this window I just stopped and let the emotions of longing, hope, and joy wash over me. I wanted a hand to tug on, to beg the owner of it to take me inside.

The street leading to the castle is on a very steep hill, and there are steps you can take that duck behind a row of apartments, becoming a shortcut that, by the third or fourth landing, feels like it was still the way harder option. When I finally reached the top, I realized that this was the castle my imagination has used for every Shakespeare play I've ever read. (Which, okay, is only two, but the point still stands.) The steps near the entrance to the courtyard became the platform Macbeth used to mount his horse, and upon entering the courtyard I saw the tower Juliet called to her Romeo from. Until today, I could never have told you where that castle had come from, I would have probably claimed that the great architectural prowess of my subconscious had simply conjured it up.  

One final thing: On the hill of the castle, where a wall and towers sort of cut off the land and make the whole thing rise from the town, some Swiss men were playing Bocce Ball. I knew our family was cultured.

Tummy Issues

My stomach is having a hard time adjusting to the whole, "big meal in the middle of the day and small meals on either end of it" thing, and I get really hungry at odd times of the day. Especially in the middle of the night, when I'm being kept awake by my annoyingly loyal Circadian rhythm. (That loyalty being to the Mountain Time Zone). So today I decided to resolve that issue, and bought a box of biscuits which now live in my desk. I'd better tell Elisabeth to sign me up for sports as soon as possible.  

Universal Profiles

Today was my first day of school. I learned many things, including the fact that smiling really is the same in every language, I can understand way more French than I can speak, which is frustrating as hell, and that no matter where you are, it seems to me that the same kinds of people teach the same kinds of subjects. Of course, in order to be willing to be a teacher in a public school full of moody, pubescent high schoolers, one would have to be a specific kind of person anyways. But my discovery of the day went even deeper, to the personality types of each person and how it reflects their subject. My Economics teacher, a Mme. Tack, was extremely energetic and convinced that her subject would change our lives. She had Ms. Frizzle hair and I half expected her to march us all down the four flights of stairs and take us on a magically educational field trip. Our Math teacher wore glasses that framed his focused, thoughtful eyes and wrote in near capital letters on the board. He attempted to make a joke about the fact that I am American, but in the end was the only one laughing; the rest of us just looked confused. For my final class of the morning, we had Francais, which is just grammar, spelling, writing, etc. Exactly like an English class at home. Our teacher for French had on a bright hot pink button-down shirt and had bulging knuckles on his hands from holding pens tightly. He wandered aimlessly around the room, taking to us about whatever digression came to mind, satisfying his Attention Deficit Disorder by opening and closing the windows over and over again.

I was introduced at the beginning of the first period, and during the break after that class two of my new friends came and introduced themselves. Two more came the period after that, and soon we were all hanging out together. I love friendly people. It made my day so much easier. After school, I went downtown and touristed it up for a few hours, wandering and taking pictures of various beautiful buildings and of the crepe I enjoyed in the park. It was perfect.

Guys, I think I might actually be able to do this.

Final Stop, Leave Please.

Upon arriving at our little Bozeman airport, laden with too much luggage and not enough control to keep the stinging tears from pooling in my sleepy eyes,  I didn't know what to expect. I certainly didn't expect the numerous strapping young men who all offered to help me with my suitcase as I attempted to lift it over my head into the bins. (I politely declined the offered assistance, and needed only to  demonstrate my angry feminist grunts a few times to get the message across to some of the, er, gentlemen.) I have now arrived in my new home, having taken car, plane, train, and my own two tired feet as I dragged my oversized luggage towards a place I was promised to have a memory of, but as of yet have drawn blank. Funnily enough, what I do remember is the sidewalk. From this I can only assume that as a young, blossoming child of 9, I either had a magnificent eye for detail, or decided it was best to spend my European experience staring at my feet. Either way I still feel I was prodigious at heart.

The people have been amazing. I haven't met a single person who hasn't been smiley, welcoming, and patient as I struggle my way through their language. Except for this one French lady on the plane who just squinted around at everyone and sucked on her e-cigarette. And the flight attendants.

Well, I'm here. Its gorgeous. Welcome home, Kate?